He was beardless, and his
gorilla-like nostrils twitched, his forehead wrinkled. His eyes were
mere pin-points, with a sort of red glare far back in them; his
mouth was like a dirty red muzzle. He was a prowling tramp, of the
worst sort.
Involuntarily he stopped in his tracks as I faced him, his hands
hanging loosely at his sides. His eyes swept greedily over
me--silver mesh-purse, wrist-watch, the brooch at my throat, the
rings on my fingers.
"Whut yuh doin' hyuh, w'ite lady?" he asked in a thick voice, and
grinned. And quite suddenly such a fear as I had not dreamed could
be felt by a mortal took me by the heart and squeezed it as with an
iron hand.
"Whut foh yuh come by mah field, lil w'ite lady?" he purred. "Ah'm
takin' lil snooze in de ditch grass, an' dey yuh comes, wakin' me
up! Whut yuh wake me up for, w'ite gal?" Leering, he began with a
gliding, stealthy movement to advance.
"Stop!" cried I, in a voice that wasn't mine, it was so sharp and
thin and reedy. "Go back--where you came from! Don't you dare to
take another step! Go back!"
The hands hooked into outstretched claws. His head sunk between his
shoulders.
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